Surgery and Naughty Furniture

I had cataract surgery on my right eye a few days ago. They didn’t put me in a bed to prep for it; they put me in a recliner. On the other side of some curtains there was another woman patient on another recliner. This was a fancy-ass hospital connected to a famous medical school.

I sat on my chair, which made a familiar noise. My friend D. was with me. She and I looked at each other. “That sounds like a whoopee cushion,” I said, and we laughed out loud.

I had to get up and down a few times before I they took me into surgery, and every time I sat down our hilarity increased. Hilarity in a hospital is discouraged. We were living on the edge.

Fast-forward to after the surgery. They brought me back to the same chair in the same room with the same roommate. Again, the chair sang when I sat down. My friend and I shrieked so loudly that a nurse who was helping the other patient came over and asked us what was happening. We explained the whoopee cushion recliner to her. She asked us to keep our own noise down.

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